


Sunshine

by RemyJane



Series: Collectively, Unconsciously Composed [4]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Depression, Hurt/Comfort, OT3, Panic Attack, Seasonal Affective Disorder, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-14 06:31:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17503445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RemyJane/pseuds/RemyJane
Summary: After years aboard the Enterprise, Jim was pale. His tan lines had faded and his freckles even seemed more faint. It happened so gradually Leonard never noticed, until one day he woke up and realized Jim’s skin was pale as starlight.





	Sunshine

When they'd met in the academy, fresh off a horrifying (for some) shuttle ride, Jim was tan. Bruised and battered, to be certain, but tan. Jim loved sunshine like an old barn cat, sprawling in the warm beam that shone into Leonard's living room. He'd often nap there, freckles dappled across his cheeks, a small smile tugging on his lips. 

After years aboard the Enterprise, Jim was pale. His tan lines had faded and his freckles even seemed more faint. It happened so gradually Leonard never noticed, until one day he woke up and realized Jim’s skin was pale as starlight. Spock had joined their relationship, they had developed a wonderful bond. And all the while, Jim had lost his tan and was starting to lose his freckles. 

Leonard considered this as he watched his blond love sleeping, finger grazing his cheek. Jim wasn't smiling. Leonard frowned. 

“You appear unhappy, doctor.” Spock said, propping himself up on his elbow. The Vulcan was soft; lines from creases in his pillow pressed into his cheek indicated that, no matter his protests, when Jim had pulled them both to bed he did sleep. 

“He's pale.” He said, voice husky as he tried not to wake Jim. 

Spock nodded. “Yes. He has not had exposure to UV rays of sunlight, therefore he does not require deeper pigmentation.”

Leonard snorted. “I know how tans work, Spock.” He brushed his finger across Jim’s face again, considering him carefully. “He used to love the sunshine.”

“Interesting. I had noticed humans derived comfort from its warmth. Many of the cadets participated in a custom of lounging in it.” Spock said. 

Leonard muffled his laughter. “It's called sunbathing. Jim use to...it’s a shame you didn't meet him when he was a student.” 

Spock tilted his head, carefully considering the information. “I believe we would not have gotten along well.” 

Understatement of the century, Leonard thought. Through the bond, he felt the subdued warmth of Spock’s amusement. “He use to sunbath naked.” Leonard added. 

“Ah. That would have been a pleasant sight.” Spock allowed himself to smile fondly, the corners of his lips just tugging upward. 

Leonard smiled back at him, relaxing in the isolated warmth of their bond, love washing over him like waves on a tropical beach. He adored moments like this, moments where he could almost forget they were floating through space in a tin can that they were essential in keeping functional. 

It had happened so slowly that he barely noticed, he realized, but Jim had changed. He was more mature, less cocky, more self-possessed. But he was also...more sad. 

“Why're you staring at me?” Jim asked, voice hoarse with sleep as he blinked up at the two of them. 

“You were snoring.” Leonard lied, smirking when Jim sputtered in opposition. 

“I don't snore. You snore. It's like sleeping next to a bear.” He countered, grinning brightly at them both. His eyes were dull though, faded like his freckles, like his tan. Leonard wondered when something had changed or if had been changing all along. 

The thought occupied his mind most of the day, something he came back to between patients and when his thoughts wandered. He was careful to keep it to himself; even so, Spock picked up on his preoccupation. 

“You are concerned about the captain.” He stated plainly, dark eyes calculating the merit behind the statement or something else absurd, Leonard was sure. 

“Not concerned.” Leonard said. “Just, thinking. He's changed.” They were halfway into the 5 year mission. 

“In what way?”

“He…” Leonard caught himself. He couldn't express it in words. Instead he focused on a memory, forcing himself to share it with Spock. In his memory, Jim tugged him away from his books and drug him out the the quad. They laid in the sunshine and didn't talk at all. Jim fell asleep, lips quirked in a smile, hair golden in the brilliant sun. 

Spock nodded, taking a breath. “I see. He is indeed more melancholy that when he was younger.”

“I know part of that is that he's finally grown up. I just...I still think he is sad.”

Once they'd discussed it, Jim’s subdued nature stood out more. It wasn't that he seemed sad all the time; it was the way his shoulders slumped as soon as the attention shifted, the way the sparkle in his eyes seemed to be something he forced. Jim was faking it. 

It was summertime on Earth, but the Enterprise was always 70°, except for Spock’s quarters, which hovered around 80°. When Jim could pick, that was the side they slept on, despite Leonard’s protests that it was like sleeping in a sauna. 

Jim’s side of the bond was beginning to change, losing the bright emotions and happiness that had characterized it after the adjustment period. He was more withdrawn, pulling back. He laughed off their concern, however, when Leonard tried to broach the subject. 

“I'm just tired. Aren't you? We haven't had shore leave in months.” Leonard dropped it. 

At least, he dropped it until after their shore leave. The station was dark, harshly lit by human-produced lighting and though the neon colors were beautiful, they were cold.

Jim was even quieter after, less able to pretend everything was fine. Spock had started to shoot him concerned expressions over Jim’s head whenever they were together. 

“Are you alright, darlin’?” Leonard asked, voice gentle and uncharacteristically soft. Jim lifted his head from staring at his PADD, purple smudges standing out starkly against his pale face. 

“Yeah, I'm good. Why?”

“No reason.” Leonard shook his head. Jim reminded him of those spectacular lights, brilliant and beautiful, but lacking warmth, lacking some key component of himself. He was hollowed out, empty, aching someplace Leonard couldn't reach. 

And then Jim got hurt. 

He was hurt badly enough, bleed so much, that he was unconscious when Scott beamed them aboard. Sulu was half-holding him up, blood splattered across his uniform and dread written on his face. 

“Get him on the stretcher.” Leonard snapped. No jokes, no complaining to Jim, nothing. Jim wasn't awake, he wasn't talking; his side of their bond was quiet, inert. 

Leonard bared Jim’s body in the surgical suite, because as advanced as medicine was, the best tool was still a surgeon. And Jim was hurt so badly, was already so depleted, using the regenerator could kill him. His milky skin was mottled in places and smattered with mud and blood. 

Leonard had to remove his spleen, the vascular organ damaged beyond his ability to salvage. There was blood everywhere. Leonard could feel Spock’s concern, the needling of worry nipping at the bond. 

Surgery lasted for hours and Spock remained an unwavering presence in his mind, adopting a zen-like calm that meant meditation. Leonard drew on it, relied on it, when Jim’s heart started to falter. 

Spock was in his office when he walked in, waiting patiently. Leonard was dressed in a fresh uniform and scrubbed clean but he could still feel Jim’s blood. Spock moved all at once, hugging him tightly, a rare display of emotion that cut through the fog Leonard was lost in; he cried. 

Spock held him tightly, fingers interlaced. He kissed his cheeks. “You have given him every chance.” He said, voice tender. “It has never been wise to bet against him.”

Leonard wiped his face dry. “We don't have some magical solution this time. If he dies...he’ll be gone.” He whispered. 

“He will not die.” Spock said, caught off-guard by his own certainty. He smiled imperceivably. “Can you sense him?” 

Leonard focused and he could hardly feel the very Jim-like presence at the back of his mind, lingering like the warmth of a hand after it had moved. “He's sedated.”

“He's alive.” 

Jim awoke the next day, groggy and restless. His anxiety was high, an electrical flutter that coursed through their connection. 

“Ca’ I please leave?” He asked thickly, hands gripping the edge of of his blankets. “Bones, please?” 

Leonard rolled his eyes. “You can barely walk. What about me makes you think I'll let you leave?”

“Bo-oooones.” Jim whined. He shifted in bed, unable to get comfortable. Leonard did pity him and wished he could do something to ease his discomfort; no matter what Jim said, he didn't actually like to cause suffering. 

“Jim.” He shook his head flatly. “Don't. You almost died.” He caught himself, stopping the word ‘again’ before it slipped out. 

Jim swallowed. He worried at his lower lip with his teeth. 

“Tell me why this bothers you so much.” Leonard said suddenly. 

“Bones…” Jim managed to put together a smile that almost seemed natural. It concerned Leonard how easily he was able to do that. “I just hate sitting still. And I've never liked the medbay.” 

“You know I know you're lying.” He crossed his arms. “Just talk to me.” 

Jim’s smile slipped into something more jaded. “I just don't.” He said simply. 

“Was it something when you were a kid?” He guessed. Hurt welled up in their bond, an old wound that still ached. 

“Forget it.” Jim mumbled, looking away. “M’tired anyway.” And because he couldn't run away to engineering to escape the questions, he closed his eyes, feigning sleep. 

Jim was back on duty two days later. “Light duty.” Leonard corrected him crossly. “If you lift anything more than a PADD, Spock has orders to send you straight back down to medbay.” 

“I'll be fine, Bones.” He grinned, gritting his teeth when he pulled on his gold shirt. “Peachy.” 

Jim was careful not to let too much slip through the bond, muting the pain they could feel. Jim was disconcertingly good at managing what they could feel from him, if he wanted to. It was an uncomfortable reminder of the life he’d led before StarFleet 

Everything continued in a sort of limbo, Jim pretending he was fine and Leonard and Spock pretending they couldn't see cracks in his mask. 

Surprisingly, Montgomery Scott was the one to break the silence. “Hey, is he alright? He looks a wee off.” He said conspiratorially in the officers’ mess, nodding towards Jim. 

“I suspect he is still recovering from surgery.” Spock said levelly, stirring his soup before taking a spoonful. 

Scott shook his head. “It's been 2 months since he's played poker with us. It's not all bad, he was robbing me blind of credits.” 

Scott drifted off and Spock and Leonard exchanged a significant look. 

“2 months?” Leonard shook his head. “Did you notice?”

“That the captain was no longer engaging in gambling, which is technically illegal according to Starfleet policy?” Spock raised his eyebrows. “Yes, but I thought it a prudent decision.” 

“It's not that illegal.” Jim said breezily. 

“Then why did you stop?” Leonard asked. 

Jim frowned, shrugging his shoulders. “I don't know. I just haven't felt like it.” He was quiet, the easy energy of his opening statement fading away. 

“Jim…” Leonard shook his head. “Never mind.” 

Spock interrupted. “You have not been yourself.” He said with his characteristic bluntness. “We have been concerned.” 

Jim looked up from his meal. “I'm fine...I mean, it's just...We still have over 2 years left.” He sighed. “I'm tired.” His words were heavy. 

“Let us help.” Leonard squeezed his hand over the table. 

“I don't need help. I'm fine. I'm tired.” 

“Perhaps you should take a day or two of leave.” Spock suggested. 

Jim snorted. “And do what? The Enterprise is my baby. I'm responsible for everything that happens on this ship. I can't just ignore her.” Leonard smiled at his derision. 

“You need to take care of yourself.” Leonard chided him. “You're rundown. And major surgery didn't help.” 

“I'll be fine, Bones.” 

Jim was not fine. Two days later he was in Leonard’s office, hunched over in a chair as the doctor knelt in front of him, trying to coach him to breath more slowly. 

Jim was shaking, teeth chattering as he hyperventilated, sinking in on himself. Jim’s bondmates were engulfed in his anxiety and dread, an unfortunately familiar sensation. His lips were pale, nearly blue, and Leonard pulled him to the floor, holding him against his chest. 

“Breathe with me.” Leonard whispered. “All you need to do is breathe with me. Nice and easy. Let me help you.”

Jim was gasping, gulping, and fighting for each breath. Struggling and flailing to pull himself upright, he was disoriented, eyes glazed. He was utterly lost, completely beyond words. Leonard stroked his back, his hand a heavy enough weight to penetrate the frantic haze. 

“Oh, Jim…” Leonard sighed. “When are you going to stop being so stubborn?”

Jim was too distraught to answer, Leonard wasn't certain he even heard the question. The blond clung to him tighter, another wave of panic crashing over him. 

Several minutes later, the door opened and closed quietly as Spock entered. He surveyed the scene in front of him before moving to sit beside them.

Jim eventually calmed, shivering between his lovers. “Can we go back to our quarters?” He asked hoarsely. “Please?” The relief that washed over them when Leonard agreed was strong. 

Jim decided on Spock’s side, dropping down onto the bed hard. Leonard sat beside him and let Jim scoot over into his lap, resting his cheek against the doctor’s thigh. Spock threaded his fingers through Jim’s hair, pausing to wipe his face dry. 

“What preceded your panic attack?” The Vulcan asked. Jim shrugged. 

Leonard answered. “I was just checking that he was healing properly.” 

“You hit the restraints.” Jim whispered. 

“What?” Leonard looked at him, before it clicked. “We were just messing around. You kept fidgeting and acting like I was tickling you. I only left them on for a minute.”

“Why are the restraints significant?” Spock asked, forging ahead.

Jim swallowed hard. “After Tarsus, they kept us in observation. Because they thought the disease that wiped out the crops could have affected our growth.” 

Leonard could feel the blood drain away from his face. “Jim, what did they do?”

“I didn't want to be there. But my allergies were bad. They…”

“They restrained you.” Spock finished. 

“Jim, I'm so sorry. I had no idea.” Leonard said. 

“I know. It made me think of it, though and I-it just got to be too much.” Jim couldn't look up at them.

“I'm so sorry, Darlin’.” Leonard apologized. 

“S’ok.” He closed his eyes. “Haven't had a panic attack in a while.”

Spock kissed their fingers together tenderly, eyes dark with concern. The human looked utterly depleted; Spock wanted to fix it, but he wasn't even sure where to start. Or how, for that matter. 

“Not since...well, you know.” Leonard huffed, remembering the near-constant dread after Hruglette 6 and their bond beginning. “But we know what caused it then.”

“It's all just been a lot closer to the surface.” Jim said, voice flat. He didn't try to skirt the subject or veil his comments, he didn't try to change the subject. He seemed defeated. 

“Why?” Leonard asked. 

Jim sighed, opening his eyes like it was a Herculean effort. “I don't know. I'm just tired.” 

“Go to sleep.” Spock said. “We can finish this discussion after you rest.” 

“Not that kin’dof tired.” Jim said, limp like he couldn't move. “Not like I need sleep. Just...I don't know. I don't know.” Leonard felt a cold prickle of fear creep up his spine. Apathetic, exhausted, and depressed on a scale that Leonard couldn't fully comprehend; Jim was hurting badly and it had nothing to do with his injuries. 

“I think we should start you on some antidepressants.” Leonard said quietly. “I should've done something sooner.” 

Jim nodded, no fight left, no indignation or token protest. “Sure.” 

Antidepressants couldn't make Jim happy, instead they made him so he couldn't be as sad. Leonard found himself appalled at the lack of research concerning deep space missions and mental health. “We've been sending people- other species too!- into space for over two centuries and no one has compiled any real data on how it affects our mental health?!” Leonard spewed, chucking his PADD across the room. “What have we even been studying! What's even the point? We’re sending folks out into the black and we don't know the full ramifications!”

Spock watched mildly from the doorway until Leonard was finished. “Humans are often reluctant to speak about such things. Perhaps you should publish on it.”

“Right, add that on top of everything else.” Leonard grumbled. “Starfleet psychologists have done some, but the amount of people out in space...they could do more.” 

“Have you found anything pertinent to Jim’s case?” 

“A whole lot of drugs. I know he hates that. And, something else. It's a little 21st century for me, but it could work.”

“What is it?” Spock asked, curious. 

“Light therapy. Something to imitate the effect of sunlight.”

“Interesting.”

“I'll have to look into it. Sunlight isn't without its risks. It can lead to skin cancer and burns, of course, in excess.” 

“Like many chemicals.” Spock mused. 

Leonard was distracted from his research by Jim, of course. The captain turned out to be allergic to many of the medicines Leonard prescribed, leading to weeks of tinkering with dosages. 

Some caused a rash, others vomiting, and one particularly unpleasant pill caused both, while providing hallucinations; Jim never did anything the easy way. 

Spock urged the doctor to reconsider light therapy. “I've done some reading. In prescribed doses, it is perfectly safe. It is possibly slower to take effect than chemical medicines, but…” he trailed off, gesturing at the starship captain sprawled across his lap, rash still lingering on his cheeks. “The side effects are greatly lessened. At the very least, Jim would enjoy it.”

The image of Jim’s golden hair in the sun, eyes glinting and shining like treasure welled up in Leonard’s mind and something clicked. 

“Of course.” Jim had been self-medicating, to an extent, always quieter in the winter when the days were shorter. “Seasonal affective disorder, I should have seen this.” 

“You are not a psychiatrist. And Jim is emotionally complex.” 

Because he was feeling generous, Leonard did not comment on how anyone would seem emotionally complex to a Vulcan. He was correct though, there was so much background interference that he had almost missed the common thread running through Jim’s mental health. 

Scott assured Leonard it was easy to mount a sun light in the captain’s quarters and he did so without any questions and a knowing smile. 

Jim seemed put off by the idea. “You think I'm just missing the sun? Bones, I've gone to space before.” 

“Humans need sunlight. It regulates our circadian rhythm. And you've never been out here for this long.” 

“Well, why isn't everyone else-” Leonard cut him off. 

“Everyone else is doing ok with the present lighting to keep their circadian rhythm in check. It's not working for you. Besides, antidepressants are one of the most commonly prescribed drugs aboard a starship.”

“Really?” Jim looked up, hopeful. Leonard should have told him that weeks ago, judging by the upwelling of emotion. 

“Yeah. Strangely, us monkeys didn't evolve to live in a dark, silent vacuum.” He rolled his eyes. “We need a little help.” 

“The human species evolved from apes.” Spock cut in. “However, I am in agreement with your other statements.” Leonard scowled at him but their bond was still warm with affection. Jim grinned, always amused when they bickered like this, without any real heat or stakes in the game. 

“You wanna give it a whirl?” Leonard said. “15 minutes. Think you can sit still that long?” 

Jim moved slowly, unsure. Leonard showed him how to turn it on and set the timer. It turned out they didn't need to worry about his attention span. After 10 minutes, he'd fallen asleep, a smile tugging at his lips. 

“Does it work if he is sleeping?” Spock asked in hushed tones, his hand gently kissing Jim’s. 

“I don't know.” Leonard admitted. He brushed Jim’s hair back off his forehead and didn't fight the bubble of affection that swelled in his chest. He knew Spock could feel it too. 

As slowly as Jim’s freckles and smiles had faded, they came back. He became more animated, more himself. He started playing poker with Scotty again, started laughing more. Leonard hadn't realized how absent the sound had been until it returned. Jim orchestrated more lights being placed in the Quiet Room, at home alongside the meditation space and cozy chairs. Leonard issued prescriptions for certain amounts of time to those interested. All was going well. 

Jim wasn't that tan, the light wasn't that powerful, but he was happy. His bond was once again glowing with happiness, burst of joys he shared with them easily. Perhaps they could survive in the dangerous darkness of space after all.


End file.
